Ties of Black and White
by snapemartyr
Summary: While witnessing an unplanned exchange between Severus Snape and Lord Voldemort, Harry steps between the curse and the Potions Master. While doing so, he catapults the war, and, unknowingly, his future, into directions he had never imagined. Canon pairings. No slash.
1. His Decision

_**A/N:**_** A couple of quick notes on this piece. Severus Snape has not yet iterated to Harry that he needs to die in order for Lord Voldemort's downfall to be completed. The only information that he receives, by the beginning of this book, is that he will need to face Voldemort, and, as the fifth book states, **_**one of them must die**_**. This story will maintain canon characters, and there will be no pairings generated. The story takes place at the end of book seven, and will build upon a potential, thready and difficult, but catapulting friendship between Harry and Severus Snape. And please note that for plot development, Nagini has the unique ability to practice Occlumency.**

**Thank you for reading. Know that your thoughts are always appreciated.**

**{All original characters belong to JK Rowling}**

**His Decision-**

**Ties of Black and of White ~**

" . . . told you that it was originally Nagini who created this illusion." Harry was deathly still, and held his tongue tightly, not wanting to interrupt the peace that could shatter this minute. Lord Voldemort walked around Snape languidly, not wishing, it seemed, to spend any more of his time out in the midst of the battle, tired apparently, of the troubling prospect. He would much rather, at this particular minute, speak with Snape. He did not know what to think about this new dynamic in the interaction between Snape and his master. However, he was jolted by his next words.

"Nagini is a very unique snake, Severus, as I'm sure that you are aware. Whether or not you are an excellent Occlumens has no bearing upon this discussion. The fact is that ability to see through the confined areas of your mind is of utmost importance to Nagini. I however, find myself confused on a certain matter." There was a pause. Snape had nothing to say on this matter, it seemed, for he was deliberately refraining from answering Lord Voldemort. Harry wondered whether the reason for this was perhaps an undercover tactic of some sort, of which he should not like to be aware of, however the case might stand. He carefully sealed his lips so close that fire could not have escaped from them, his heart beating wildly. He was careful to stay hidden from the interest of Voldemort's keen eyes though, shading himself from the malicious red glow, within the tunnel.

Harry did not want Ron or Hermione to follow him up to the shack, because of the fact that it was not the best way to manipulate his way out of the situation. It may not have been a possibility anyway. He did not know what type of plan Voldemort was concocting, but every time his head burned, he knew that living up to certain expectations where he was concerned would most likely be impossible. Nevertheless, for the short term, he knew that this was the best way to attempt to sabotage everything that Lord Voldemort, and his ideas that had caused the immense amount of misery that they had upon the world, to finish him. Until it was all complete. This is what Harry would do. He only knew that above all, he had to do everything alone . . .

Snape turned swiftly on his heel, and all Harry could see was a flash of black that swished in front of his vision in a whirl of dark heat. He gulped. He had the impossible feeling arising within him that this was not the best way to interpret Lord Voldemort's intentions. He could only watch Snape and listen to his steady but utterly cool drawl.

"The restraints have fallen. What is left of the Order of the Phoenix is now crumbling to your forces, My Lord."

"Severus, you are not designated to the role of finding Harry Potter and bringing him to me, but I am under the impression that you are eager to escape my presence for some reason." Snape stared at him for a moment, his white face slack and papery, not saying a word. The Dark Lord stood against Snape without saying anything. From opposite sides of the room, the two of them were juxtaposed against each other in a very interesting light. Harry had never noticed before, how well Snape's black hair shined underneath the light- Voldemort's wand light.

"I am disappointed in you, Severus. Nagini has communicated with me very recently, you know." Harry looked at Snape again. The Potions Master was quiet. His face could have been painted over in death. He did not seem to have a line in his being to enumerate, and his throat was no longer working with his usual drawl. Harry was in fact unable to make any type of determination concerning the current predilection he held, and he actually found that the Potions Master had become an impossible enigma. He didn't want to crack his trouble, though. He was frightened at the notion of what may become of the next action that Snape decided to take, in spite of himself. Harry could see only the overall infamy of Voldemort's wrath, and the ultimate, true terror that would become those who were in his field of capricious vision in the final end of the war. As his eyes once again rove to Snape's broad breadth of black form that took up the array of stunted space in the cabin, he watched him slowly move forth.

One second passed, and then two, and then finally . . . three seconds passed, and Harry was unable to stay in his current predicament without clenching his hands tightly in painful prevarication.

Lord Voldemort crossed the room in a flash, and Harry was slightly startled by how well the snake-like man with his apparently thin, seemingly meat-less frame, and appearance of sheer malignancy, as well as cruel frailty could move. The axe of a thin wand cut in front of him through the insubstantial, bleak light. He plunged his own wand hand into his pocket, without being able to fully explain his reasons. The wand was point directly in front of Snape, who still did not move one muscle, and Harry fingered his wand critically, counting the moments.

"Explain to me, Severus, exactly why you have been communicating with Abus Dumbledore's Order on a regular basis."

"My Lord?" Snape had drawn his wand as well, and it now lay smoothly in front of him, but he made no move to use it as he spoke now with a cool and collected tone of voice. "I apologize, My Lord. Your meaning is unclear to me."

"_Is_ it?" The words flew straight through the air like a knife, and Harry thought, that if they were crafted from real material, a thin silver knife would have gone right through Snape's heart. "I am surprised at you, Severus," Lord Voldemort continued, while he was softly and in uncharacteristic manner around the room like a fine, spinning lace. Snape watched him warily. "I thought that you were clever in the most, shall we say, uncanny degree." He grew quiet. Harry could feel the pressure in his head building. Voldemort seemed to be contemplating his words carefully.

Snape's black orbs peeled away the layers of Lord Voldemort's statement, by roving to the side more quickly than the Dark Lord could possibly work through the various layers, of what had ironically lay open in the air. They shifted craftily to the side, but Snape still appeared not to have any idea as to what Voldemort meant in his words. His words may have actually passed over him, by the way Snape feigned total and complete detachment from his circumstances.

"My Lord, I have not taken any type of role in the headmaster's plot to defeat you through the Order of the Phoenix, other than, of course, the necessary means." Here he made a slight bow towards Voldemort, which actually looked more like a one degree curvature of the head dipping downward. Voldemort hissed faintly into the air.

"You lie." Snape looked back up.

"My Lord . . . " Voldemort began to pace around him with a furious swish of black, that would have complimented Snape's everyday garments nicely were it not for the obvious contempt that he held for his master spy. Harry would have thought that loathing might be a more acute, and a much more accurate word, in this instance.

"For several years you have been silently defying me, Severus, in a manner that I have been heretofore disposed to think of as mere inability to follow each order I have given to your excellence."

"My Lord?" Snape still sounded blank, his voice as cool, pure, and blameless as whitewash. Voldemort swiveled around so fast on his black boots that, momentarily, Harry thought there may have been some discrepancy between the attachment of the actual boot to his foot and the move. However, his snake-slitted face was a miraculous display of sheer iciness and fury which made him feel unhinged in some sense, although the well was deep inside his body, a feeling much removed from real life. He was watching this display from an emotional chasm that hadn't quite been able to catch up with his mind at that moment. Those red eyes danced with a fluid ease that made him feel a bit nauseous.

"You have deceived me, Severus. I do not know in what manner precisely you have accomplished the task that should have been impossible. Indeed," he said, lowering his eyes in a minute degree for but a moment, as though he were now speaking to himself, "I do not know how it is possible for someone even of your particular calibre to deceive me." He seemed to enter into his own measure again though, instantly, while his eyes snapped back onto the face of the Potions Master. They stared at each other, and then Voldemort smiled slowly. This action alone caused Harry to feel for the first time, as though fear had a real definition. He could not help but to think, that as he watched the slowly diminishing embers of life from Snape's paling, sickly features, that this definition could even present itself to the notorious master of the Hogwarts dungeons, much loathed and feared by the students who crossed him.

"You- don't- " Snape was struggling to find the coherency needed to escape from this situation, but he somehow seemed to understand his fate with ominous recognition, before even Harry. Harry, who now had no scruples- he now knew the truth. Before Snape even moved his wand in a mark of survival, without a second thought, he quickly threw himself out from his designated area, and between the closing space held by Lord Voldemort and the Potions Master. Voldemort's eyes widened marginally, but, behind him, Harry thought that he heard a low hiss spent by Snape that cleared the air between them. However, nothing that either of them displayed to show their recognition played any part in the decision he was making. He looked at Snape for just a split second then. His black eyes were narrowed at him, but they were inscrutable. He cocked his head slightly to the side, and Harry could not tell whether or not he was considering him or he had concocted a plan to murder him within the minute. Lord Voldemort however, was clearly furious.

"Harry Potter," he said in a low tongued hiss. "Yet again you have proved yourself to be completely in disregard of every command that I have ever given." He now cocked his head as well, as though he were considering Harry to be a confused fly that had somehow zoomed up between them guilelessly. "But of course, this would not make the smallest difference to you, would it? You are Albus Dumbledore's puppet." Harry gave a quick firm of affirmation to this, completely ignoring the trembling that was coursing through his body like vehement electricity, angry with him for his actions. He swallowed tightly, but looked straight into Voldemort's eyes when he answered,

"Yes, I am." Voldemort gave another low hiss. Harry was beginning to feel somewhat undernourished and underfed, like a beggar that had sought staples only to meet his untimely death instead. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. But, he knew what had to be done regardless. He wiped a bit of sweat from his temple. He could detect nothing from the formidable blackly swathed presence behind him. Snape was standing stoically and quietly, as though, perhaps, he thought, waiting to see how this would play out. He looked back at Voldemort. His thin lips were curling in an amusement that Harry would probably have liked to have ignored.

"Well, Severus, it seems as though you are fortunate enough to have gained a follower." He let out a low chuckle. The murmur of his silent voice swept throughout the cabin with an immense chill. "Let us see how we should determine the next victim whose death will be of utmost value. I am under the impression that Harry would like to take your place in our duel," Voldemort enumerated almost mildly. His red eyes cut straight into Harry's now, who could not help but to face the terrible, and inevitable truth. His time was up. All of the Horcruxes had by then been found and destroyed, and, above all- this was it. He was the last Horcrux. He turned back to the Potions Master and met his gaze evenly.

Snape swallowed a couple of times and looked as though he was struggling to say something to him, but the tunneling dark orbs that had glared at him with the thickest loathing imaginable for several years were no longer showing malevolence. He blinked at him, but his gaze was relatively indeterminable. Harry could not tell if he was shocked, faintly surprised, unable to make a decision based on his feelings, or whether he was simply detached from the situation. However, he was able to make one conclusion. Snape knew that he had his mind made up. And as he stood there looking steadily into the face of the man that had tortured, teased, and bullied him mercilessly through all of his years at Hogwarts, a mutual tie of understanding swept between them, tying them together, momentarily. And then, whatever he had seen in his eyes was gone, as Voldemort called him again, and he turned staunchly on his heel, to face what he knew, after all this time, would have to come.


	2. A Different Existence

_**A/N: **_

**Hello everyone. A nice thank you to **_**jakefan**_** and **_**Daughter of the Full Moon**_** for their reviews on the first chapter of this piece. I really appreciate the support that has been offered, and would like everyone to know how much the messages of my readers encourage me and help to inspire the wings of the story to its fullest abilities, no matter. Even if you just say 'well done,' it speaks to the term 'advantage,' =).**

**In this chapter Harry banished Lord Voldemort to another existence, through an enigmatic spell that Snape has yet to explain fully. After the altercation with the Dark Lord, Harry and Snape leave the shack to attempt providing the rest of the battle comrades with the new revelation. This section of information will be continued in chapter three . . . **

**Enjoy!**

**{All rights to the originals belong to JK Rowling}**

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_**A Different Existence**_

**Ties of Black and White ~**

Harry held his wand squarely in front of him, his wand pointed levelly at Voldemort, as he tried to ignore the slight trembling in his fingers that coursed throughout his arm. He refused to allow the anxiety that had taken a hold of his body and mind, to interfere with his ability to tie the together the ends of the initial goal, the mission that every person who had fought against the dark side had lived to see completed. As he stood there staring into the red, snake-like face of the man who had killed his parents, he could no longer see the conqueror of the dark days that had obscured the entire wizarding community for so many years, influencing everyone. All that he could process was the figure of the person who had caused him to live alone, indirectly experiencing companionship through the Durslys for years. Harry did not know why this was.

Every piece of his broken past was falling in front of his face as though a glass was being put back together. He did not feel any bitterness, and he did not feel as though he had shattered in any sense, by it. Rather, he was experiencing a need to come out of his perception of destruction, which had been caused by Lord Voldemort, and the feeling was affecting him through the task that lay directly in front of him. He took a deep breath, and found that he was no longer afraid. He stood perfectly still and quiet, almost serene. He was waiting for Voldemort to make his next move.

For a reason that Harry couldn't understand, his opponent merely watched him narrowly for several moments, his black pupils darting from side to side within their red orbs. He did not say anything to Harry, he did not try to bait him, or goad him as was his wont. In fact, he seemed to be deliberating, although Harry could not imagine what last minute musings he could be having. He heard a brief movement behind him, and vaguely wondered whether Snape was experiencing some type of afterthoughts . . . he could not understand how this could have been, though. Snape did not seem to be able to be affiliated with the situation at all, as he was simply standing at a slight distance from the eminent change of fate that was about to take place. However, he could not help but to turn slightly, and meet Snape's glittering, fathomless black eyes. The Potions Master opened his mouth to say something, but Harry never got to find out what he would have said to him. Voldemort had raised his wand.

Harry was ready. His wand trembled with an inner vibration that seemed to have come from an interior energy that became one with his magic. Voldemort's fury was transmitted through the green curse that shot out from his wand tip, straight at Harry's heart in a spiraling emission that seemed to have no end. Momentarily, it drove like a harsh whiff of green air throughout the small space that inhabited the small shack, twining around between the three of them. It finally settled upon its opponent. Harry's wand was trembling with the vibrations that were sapping his control, and furiously playing upon every shred of energy that it took him to maintain the counter-spell. He watched, as though from a distance, the splendid, and somehow strangely beautiful light that lit up the room through the two spells. The red flame danced around the luminous green tendrils as though meaning to startle and to provoke them, the two unique fires both asserting their own power through the one thread of connection that mutually linked them.

Harry kept his concentration focused upon the transformation that was occurring. He instinctively knew that if he tore his gaze away from the process for but a moment, everything would be over in within seconds. He glanced at Voldemort, and found that his eyes were slightly widened, as though he, too, were having difficulty maintaining the connection. To his right, he thought he saw a brushing black whiff extract itself from view, and he knew that Snape was still standing no more than three feet away from them. However, Lord Voldemort's eyes were pinned upon him as though they could not find their immeasurable need to kill in any other fashion, than by manipulating Harry's orbs. He swallowed harshly, and attempted to ignore the urge that had suddenly come upon him to look away from his opponent. At that instant, he thought that he heard a whisper behind him, and a slight rustling brushed past him, but he did not have the available moment to pay it any mind. The muscles in his arm tightened.

Just as the link entwining the two wands through the splendiferous colors began to waver, the green flame began coursing along the red one, running up and down the length of it as though it were gasoline. Harry did not have the spare moment to think about it, but he was taken aback by this seemingly independent act the wand had chosen to take. He glanced at Voldemort again and realized that his white, pallid face had become strained, as though he were struggling to meet the demands of this new, uniquely refreshing quality his wand demonstrated. Harry was actually quite pleased with the change, because the pressure of his own wand had become lessened. In fact, it was steadily becoming effortless to hold it, and he fought a smile of relief from manifesting. Smooth as silk gliding through air, Voldemort's wand swerved away from his grasp, and pleasantly landed on the floor beneath his feet, its tip pointing directly towards his face.

The snarl that rapidly slashed through his entire face made Harry take an involuntary step backward, but he lowered his own wand at this strange transition, observing the scene carefully. The pressure in his own head was slowly building, because of the tension that Voldemort's mind was imbibing. Harry found himself to be aghast when he turned upon him, fingering his wand between his thin, smooth fingers, his malevolent, slitted eyes roving over his entire person, and hissed,

"Fascinating, Harry. How interesting it is," he said in a lowered tone, his voice softening, "that you have again discovered a means by which to thwart me? This wand is no longer capable of produci- " And then, as though on a demonic whim, his face folded into the most bone-chilling, deathly snarl that Harry had ever witnessed, and he immediately issued a death-like scream. It spiraled through the air in a way that was completely off-setting, and Harry was threw his hands over his ears while the whine trudged through the whole shack, down to its very roots. His body was pinned exactly where it was as though he had also become a root, and he squeezed his eyes tightly, adhering to his gut feeling, which was strongly telling him _not to open them. _

However, a moment later he did anyway, and when he saw what was taking place in front of him, he almost became sick. Lord Voldemort had become an eerie twist of cloudy blackness, and the wand which he had held moments before had been thrown to the ground, and was now rolling away from him almost teasingly. His face, however, was still swimming about in the flush, and when it diminished with an ear-splitting stream upon that instant, the image of the red eyes lingered cruelly within his mind . . .

Quickly, Harry threw his hands up over his mouth and doubled over. The pain in his head had grown tenfold, and a thousand nails were clattering against his skull. He felt as though at any moment he might shatter and break, the force of the nefarious, evil thongs against his brain becoming too much, as Voldemort's fury became a part of his very soul, his existence . . .

Without scruple, he harshly retched into the floorboards, completely unaware of his surroundings, or the fact that there was movement just beyond the space in which Voldemort had vanished. He stayed in a crouched position for several moments, panting, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, willing the pain to subside with every fiber in his being, feeling the world sway dizzyingly around him, as though he were a part of its natural tilt. The distant movement grew nearer, and still he did not look up, too constricted by his internal bindings and the excruciating malady that had made him sick to his very core, for what seemed to be an eternal infliction- he wondered if it would ever end. It was utterly unbearable. Like a gentle, translucent whiff through the air, again there was a muted whisper, of a similar aspect to that which he'd heard moments before, but he did not take any notice of its origin. He was unable to look up, to move, to do anything . . . it struck him that perhaps he was being possessed . . .

And then, just as suddenly as the pain had begun, it abruptly stopped, and he began to take a few deep breaths while the apparently invincible possession of whatever had lived within him, diminished . . . he straightened himself and finally was able to open his eyes once more. Stunned for a moment, unable to process his surroundings, he looked directly at the place where Voldemort had vanished- and saw nothing. Then he looked up at- who else- but Severus Snape. Harry just ogled him. The Potions Master said nothing to him, his thin eyebrows raised unfathomably at him. Without acknowledging Harry with any further expression, he raised his wand and, with an aloof, collected expression, muttered a quiet '_evanesco,' _vanishing the contents of Harry's embarrassing mess.

Harry simply stared at him, his mind racing with a million different malicious, cruel ideas and suggestions. However, he found that when everything had settled in the silent air of dank and incomprehensible blankness, he could not think of one word to say. His mind had been turned off, like a muggle tape recorder that had become broken. Snape picked up his wand, which he had unwittingly dropped moments previously, when he had succumbed to his indiscretion. He twirled it through his fingers softly in the meager light of the shack's moon, examining it idly within the lingering, dying sheaths that were quickly subsiding in the thick of the roving night.

"Interesting, is it not, Potter, that you are have been the bane of the Dark Lord's existence as well as mine, and yet, despite this mutual tie between the Dark Lord and I, you end up in my proximity and care again, without fail." Snape's voice was blank, his voice completely inscrutable. Harry had no inkling as to what he may have been thinking. He forced himself to speak.

"Sir?" His voice came out harsh and dead in through the night's black penchants. He turned toward him again, the wand falling flat beside his torso.

"In spite of my extensive knowledge of the arts which the Dark Lord hones, and elaborate background in the area of his deepest and most ambiguous tactics, I had no idea that the spell which I favored in order to construct this would affect us." Harry opened his mouth to speak. Snape lifted his gaze toward the twining sheaths that were steadily creeping towards them, like meandering silver rivers.

"I did not know that _Orbitus Stabilitus _would be suiting, in this case. The chances of it offering any type of assistance were extremely slim. Yet, in spite of all the setbacks, and the obvious detriments to it which existed, you succeeded." Harry eyed him warily, and rashly asked him,

"Do you mean that Voldemort's dead?" Snape shook his head. He noticed that his face had whitened beneath its typical white, waif-like persona.

"He has not been defeated. However, he has been temporarily disabled to an extent, which is, at this moment, impossible to measure. You have in essence, banished his existence from this earth." Harry stood up straighter with a shaky effort, brushing himself off as he attempted to regain an indeterminable composure, wiping his sleeve over his mouth.

"I never heard about that spell," he said in a lowered tone, his precarious mind threatening him with an overload that he couldn't quite exercise control over. He still felt slightly sick, as though the dendrites in his brain and his physical body had been stretched to the breaking point, every part of his being rebelling, needing sleep, yet unable to receive what it desperately sought.

"You would not have attained knowledge of this art through your elementary education, Potter," Snape hissed, his tone turning towards the soft side of its usual vicious nature, as he slowly shot Harry a look of disgust that seemed altogether more relevant than anything else that he had seen that night. Ironically, the familiar sneer that crossed the Potions Master's face was nearly comforting, in the mere fact that it was so familiar, that Harry almost laughed aloud. Snape's eyes widened infinitesimally as he threw his hands over his mouth, quickly drowning the unfortunate lack in etiquette. This whole situation was so unabatedly absurd, that somehow he just wished that he were able to lay down to sleep, and rid himself of every current thought . . . he leaned against the wall behind him and tried to focus.

"Potter." Snape's was watching him warily, and he took a stunted, seemingly half-hearted step forward. The wands that he clutched at his side made no upward turn however, and Harry somehow knew that Snape did not mean him any malice- or at least, malice that would result in any type of physical action.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, allowing his hands to slide down towards his jean pocket, where he tightly clenched the flap. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel a bit- I dunno . . . loopy, for some reason. I- just- " He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, fighting the poignant embarrassment that was creeping over his flushed cheeks. He gritted his teeth, wishing suddenly that the floor would open up and swallow him completely, and then he swallowed, looking back up at Snape.

There was a dark, enigmatic flash that crossed his eyes which made seemed extraordinarily out of place, until Harry realized at the last minute that he seemed to be slightly amused. He didn't think that he had ever seen that type of expression cross Severus Snape's face before this minute, and it made him force down unwitting laughter that surged forth again, invigorating his mind and soul. Finally he regained his composure . . . and, as he did, his strength seemed to leave him, and he found himself falling down without leverage or his consent. He landed back upon the floorboards with his hands crossed over his knees, which he used for a meek support.

"What happened to him?" he asked finally, his breathing harsh and ragged, as he gained a shred of his control back. Snape was leaning against the opposite wall to him, staring flatly up at the ceiling . . . Harry almost had the impression that he was contemplating a revelation of some sort, although he did not see any upon the horizon.

"I do not know, Potter," he said in a flat, dead voice.

"You- " Harry began, struggling to see him through the gloom, as the moonlight had disappeared.

"There is a possibility that the Dark Lord's physical body is still within the immediate proximity, but we cannot be sure of this fact." Snape did not seem to be nervous by the prospect, but Harry violently shivered. There was an awkward silence, which was thick with a tension that neither of them could fully interpret. It just struck Harry that they had mutually saved each other's lives, and he wondered what the implications of this actually meant. Simultaneously, another issue revealed itself to him.

"Nagini!" Harry exclaimed, without thought. "Where is he? Did Voldemort's snake disappear with him as well?" Snape, who had seemed a million miles away from his the entire proximity that encircled him in all manners, glanced at him cursorily.

"The Dark Lord's esteemed, long-term pet seems to have vanished with him as well," he sneered. "No doubt he will be sorely missed among the former headmaster's army." Harry sighed with a short-lasting relief. He listened for any telltale sounds coming from the window, but the occasional flashes of light that shot around the exterior of the cabin were the only signs of battle that he could detect.

"So no one knows yet? That Lord Voldemort is no longer a threat?" His question sounded lame even to his own ears. Snape was revolving his wand around in the most curious fashion. He waited-

"Not yet," he said, curtailing his words, his tone still contemplative. Then he looked at Harry though his typically narrowed eyes, which were boring into him like a knife, and which strongly unnerved him. "However," he said softly, his black eyes piercing into his soul, "the time has now come, has it not, to explain the current situation?" Harry just ogled at him.

"And how do you expect me to do that?" he asked, honestly baffled by Snape's suggestion. "I have no idea what happened! I don't even know what spell you performed to- to get- rid of- "

"I assure you Potter, he is not gone," Snape said, his voice low, holding a hint of danger. "It would take an extended period of time to fully iterate the ramifications of this situation." Harry looked back down at his knees. He understood that there was much about this circumstance that needed to be understood, and that it would most likely take Snape a longer period of time than they currently had to explain in detail. But he could not deny one fact. He knew, without any illusions to deconstruct, that Snape was innocent. And at the moment, there was no other option. He would need to trust him, at least temporarily, and set his current drawbacks aside. There was nothing else for it. He sighed again.

"Alright, you win," he muttered, unable to argue. When Snape did not offer him any verbal response immediately, he steadied himself, and worked his way painfully back into a standing position, valiantly trying to ignore the chronic fatigue that addled his physical capabilities.

"Come." Snape quirked a long finger at him, and he walked over to the extended arm which held Harry's wand. The look on Snape's face was a deathly pale shimmer, and for the first time he had a glimpse of the deep bags that were looming underneath his dark eyes.

"Do not use it unless absolutely necessary," he growled, and Harry nodded. Then, without further ado, Snape entered into the narrow tunnel once more, and disappeared from sight. Adrenaline coursing through him, he forced himself to follow him out into the night.

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_**A/N:**_** Please review ~**


	3. Snape's Dilemna

_**A/N:**_

**Hello again, readers. A special thanks goes out to **_**Daughter of the Full Moon, jakefan, and geetac**_** for their excellent reviews on that last chap. I want you to know that I really appreciate your support-to all my followers, please feel free to keep them coming! They are so encouraging and help me to define the work. Truly, your readership makes these stories!**

**I hope that you enjoyed the start of this piece. Interesting scenarios here, isn't it? The gloom of the final battle is being purposefully constructed around Harry's inner perspective of ironic uncertainty, considering the circumstances. The strange twist of humor lies in the fact that Harry does not himself completely understand the situation, so the world's wizarding hero is of somewhat less value, here. I hope that I portrayed this well enough, but I love to hear your thoughts, so please feel free to review . . . **

**Thanks so much for your time. More on the battle of Hogwarts survivors coming up. Until the next upload, then- great day!**

_**SM ~**_

_**{Disclaimer: The originals belong to JK Rowling}**_

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**Chapter 3-**

_**Snape's Dilemna~ **_

The rain was coming in torrents by the time that they reached the exterior of the tunnel, where both of them momentarily stood, prevaricating, although Harry could not be exactly sure what had caused Snape to come to a halt. The cold, sharp drops perforating their view fully obscured the wide hills curving down and out towards the grounds of Hogwarts. He found it hard to believe that a battle could possibly be taking place against this cold pane of windowless misery, even though he inexorably knew that this was merely a natural cause overcome by any rational person. Everything at the moment seemed so indefinite, indecisive and foreign, that he had no way of recompensing with it rationally. He hoped that the infamous potions master now had a finely detailed plan that he had yet to fully iterate to him, but somehow he found himself doubting Snape's creativity; he looked up at him dubiously, without giving verbal form to these thoughts.

When Snape reached the edge of the dirt platform that rounded the less-than-elegant entrance to the dirt hole forming into the shack, he stood stock-still. He gave no demonstration of his current thoughts, making Harry wonder apprehensively over the particular exertions that he might they might be privy to, soon. He ran his fingers delicately over his wand in an absent gesture, idly watching the potions master as he deliberated.

"Sir?" he asked him eventually, causing Snape to glance over at him with an atypical, blank expression that was bizarrely devoid of malice. Harry forced his tone into politeness, inherently knowing it was absolutely crucial at the moment for them to get along, in a fashion that would allow both of them mutually create an end to this.

"You are ready, Potter?" he asked him in a curious tone that was as indecipherable as his eyes were. Harry nodded slowly.

"Yes," he answered him. "But I am not quite sure that I understand exactly what it is that you require." Snape scoffed unobtrusively, but its vibration was quietly carried into a whiff that the rain-encased trees managed to somehow slip into their shield charm. Harry did not pay it any mind, his thoughts otherwise engaged.

"On the count of three I will lift the shield charm," he told Harry in a low murmur, still appearing to be in caught in heavy thought. He nodded, giving Snape all of his attention for the moment. "We are to go directly to the castle. Do not make any stops along the way, in spite of any probably temptations which will no doubt present themselves Potter." His tone was sharp, and his eyes now narrowed, as he watched Harry acutely, giving him the impression of piercing tunnels. "Do I make myself plain?"

"Yes," he answered him briefly, the word unbrooked by reluctance.

_"Excellent,"_ he hissed quietly. Unfortunately, Snape must have decided to iterate the said cadence, for without providing any manner of sign foretelling his action, he let his sleeve fall back, and lifted the charm. Almost immediately, rain cut in quick, rapid shards into their line of view, but Harry did not waver in his steps, not allowing himself to view any of the painful events of the battle surrounding them. His mind was on one object, and he knew that any misstep could result in more than just his loss in life, ironic as that phrase now was. He knew that if he looked at any of the happenings around him for even a minute, seeing one of his friends in the heat of the fight would give him reason to pause.

Therefore, allowing his thoughts to remain only on one object, he ran towards the castle, unable to wonder whether or not Snape was following him or not, without being able to see him. However, when his skin began to tingle with the familiar aspect of a uniquely signified charm, he realized that Snape must have been closely following him, because a disillusion now sheltered him from any of the onlookers. Soon the point was moot, for he could no longer see anything, his vision obstructed by the various spells lancing across them from the battlegrounds, bespangled arts of red and green fireworks that he knew were anything but, rushing in front of him- yet he could do nothing to stop it, or them. It would do no good to dwell on things that he couldn't help.

_"Faster,"_ he heard a voice whisper in his ear, and he forced his legs to pump forth furiously, the word somehow spurring him onward like a siege, as though the ominous iteration was direr simply because of its owner. He could not ever remember fear being a part of Snape's nature, although really and truly, that was a strange thought to strike him right now, at this moment . . . he flew as though Voldemort himself had come back and had him under the _imperius_, but he didn't think, somehow that he would quite-

And then, in a flash, he was bursting through the front doors, attempting valiantly to ignore the mass destruction that was falling around him as though a million different parts of a Lego construction failed . . . the chunks of the great castle and bodies, here and there, that fell with immense thumps, to the ground.

"I don't know where to go," Harry told him, swallowing over a lump of imaginary sandpaper, looking straight ahead as he spoke. Snape answered him in a rough, jerky tone,

"Upstairs." And then he was flying up the familiar circular stairwell, running now but slowing, his heart finally being allowed to beat normally. He paused when he reached the top, and he walked into the shadows, out of sight from any of the onlookers. He stopped right underneath a rather splendiferous portrait- which depicted a rather fat man what looked to be tarlatan. This seemed to be a suitable place though, for a moment later Snape lifted the disillusionment charm, and Harry finally fell back onto his haunches, exhausted, watching the swishing black ricochet in front of him as though it were a single ripple, left over from an explosion . . . Snape paced back and forth several times before finally flicking his wand in a manner that Harry did not recognize, but then he realized that Snape was simply placing another disillusionment charm over them. This one did not provide the typical glossy sheen, but Harry did not ask him about it. Snape had begun pacing.

"You are going to need to round up the combatants," he told Harry in a tone that felt like glass shards ripping into his skin. He listened to him unwaveringly. "As you explain the situation to them, I will stay out of sight." Harry was struggling to formulate a rough idea of what he planned to say. He had the feeling that this was going to be much more difficult than it appeared to be on the surface.

"Do not give them any details," he told him, looking shadowed and tensely withdrawn, but the tone of his voice was serious, and Harry paid him due mind. "Explain what you know, and above all, do not allow anyone to come to a conclusion on their own about the Dark Lord's whereabouts." Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but Snape read his thoughts, and quickly expounded upon this, "you are not to tell them that he has disappeared, Potter."

"But then, how will I explain the nature of the spell?" he asked, feeling rather unhinged. The tone of his voice came out higher than normal. "I mean, you said that this wasn't 'typically learned about at school,' so how will anyone possibly understand what occurred- I mean, no offense, sir, but I don't even understand, so why would they?" This was a major understatement, in essence, and to Harry, the whole issue sounded obviously ludicrous. Snape whipped back around.

"What exactly then does the Golden Boy propose?" he said hissed lowly, thrusting his face into Harry's, his eyes glittering eerily. Snape's face was a thick mask of pure white. Harry moved backwards, for some reason racked strangely taut with harsh nerves considering his altercation with Lord Voldemort just a little over an hour ago.

"I don't propose anything," he told him staunchly, unable to answer him properly at that moment, though allowing only honesty to surface. "I just don't think that anyone is going to believe that story, especially when they never even heard about _Orbitus Stabilitus _before." Snape raised a delicate eyebrow at him, his face marked by a risky challenge that made Harry feel a little off-footed, all of a sudden.

"And are you not, in actuality Potter, telling them the truth?" They were both completely silent, as Harry felt an odd sinking emotion envelop him. He looked back up at Snape after a moment, his throat completely dry. For the first time perhaps since he had known the Hogwarts potions master, he found that he had no answer for his remark . . .

"You're right," he said hoarsely. He felt somehow defeated. Snape was leveling him with a steady, black gaze that pierced into his very bones. And then, before Harry had another moment to think about what he was doing, he rose from his place underneath the fat man's portrait, and walked over to the edge of the wide banister, clearing his throat loudly, casting one last, furtive glance back at Snape. He knew that at any moment he would lift the disillusionment charm from him, and then everything would be over before it had even ended. But, on a second thought. . . he turned, and walked decisively back over to Snape until he was at a direct standpoint before him. Ignoring the cursory start of surprise that flew through the dark orbs, he said in a steady, deliberate tone,

"I will not leave out your role in this entire thing, no matter how much you may want me to, so it is probably best if you are there with me. That way you can tell them the full story." He thought for a moment that Snape was going to curse him, for he lifted his arm, haltingly, but he then realized that the man had actually pocketed his wand in the thick garment that adorned him, Harry tried to veil his surprise when he gave an abrupt, jerky nod in response. He breathed out an unwitting, almost unnoticed sigh then, one of which he was practically unaware.

"Right then," he said, feeling relieved. "Alright . . . " He took a strong, purposeful step towards the stairwell, comforted in a bizarre, ironic way, by Snape's sour presence right behind him. When they were halfway down the stairs, he felt the charm lift, but no one even glanced in their direction until they were almost near the bottom, at which point he noticed a few off-handed looks shot his way. This rapidly resulted in discrepancies thrown out to the hall at large. The voices mingled with other ensuing exclamations of surprise and punctuated gasps of epiphany, until the air seemed to stand still-

Harry sucked in a deep breath, but he continued walking stoically down the steps, every fiber of his being clutched by the immense accolade. He felt as though he were buoyed up by a net of eyes, which seemed to vibrate through the air with mingled loathing and piercing expectation. He paused, swallowing, trying to use his cognitive abilities to refine his plan and ideas, but his brain seemed to fail him- he felt Snape prod him in the back, and then he realized, abruptly, that everyone who was watching had not yet seen the potions master. Snape had lifted the charm only from himself. Harry wanted to curse him, but he knew that he was going to need to push forth without his presence at this point, that there was no stopping what had already begun.

He walked to the edge of the steps, gazing out in at the scene in an unperturbed fashion that the combatants did not quite understand, but little by little, the spells had begun, and before another minute had passed had almost fully subsided. The only exception to this rule, Harry noticed, were the curses being thrown by Bellatrix Lestrange and Molly Weasely. The ground beneath them was vibrating as though it were held up only by their efforts, and had turned completely red, though which spell had caused this he didn't know. Their wands slashed through the air furiously, sprouting panoply of red, green, and odd variations of silver, but he was not able to make a determination of who was winning. His throat closed tightly, and he found that he couldn't watch them anymore. He turned back to those who were now watching him raptly, and was not surprised that the Death Eaters were slower in lowering their wands, although their expressions told of another wish that they held entirely.

He felt a whish of magic rushed passed him, and the whispered word of, _'Sonora.'_ He silently thanked Snape.

"I need everyone's attention," he said in a quiet tone that everyone easily carried to everyone in the room, for it was unnecessary for him to speak loudly through the spell. "There is no reason for this battle to continue," he started, his voice both rough and jerky, as his mind worked through a dense load of information. He took another deep breath. He decided that there was no better way for this to continue than for him to say the truth, without stipulations. He swallowed again, and then said, with decisive flatness,

"Lord Voldemort is no longer among us." As expected, there was an immediate burst of voices from the battle-worn audience, but he could not make much sense out of their interactions. This was hardly surprising- he barely understood the implications of what he himself had said. Harry shook his head from the side to side slowly, and held his hands up- whether this was a mollifying gesture or one of supplication, he did and his audience didn't really know.

"From what I understand, he has not been vanquished- that is, um, not permanently. He has been momentarily removed from the Earth, you see by a spell that is relatively unique. In fact, it's probably not one that you've even heard about. Personally I had no knowledge of it until a couple of hours before, but perhaps some of you have . . . it is called _Orbitus Stabilitus_," he enunciated clearly. Harry could tell, by the various consternated looks that were being thrown at him, that many of them were as familiar with it as he was himself. Vaguely, he realized that this would make his explanation easier.

"I'm really glad that you are about as familiar with the spell as I am," he plainly, feeling somewhat off-footed, "because, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't really know what I can say to explain his disappearance. The fact is, that I happen to be as familiar with what happened, and understand it about as well as everyone in here."

But then, before he could say anything else on the matter, Professor McGonagall, whose forehead was bleeding and who looked as though she was excessively worse for wear, stepped forward. She strode confidently up to him, despite her obvious fatigue from the battle, a slight trail of blood running down the side of her cheek, and even, what Harry thought to be a slight sneer sent in the direction of Lucius Malfoy. The latter, who looked to be in the same condition as her if not worse, had been endeavoring to raise his wand by pointing it in her direction. He hesitated for a moment, and then slowly lowered it back down. She spoke directly to Harry, and her voice brooked no scruple,

"How did this come about, Potter?" Harry just looked at her, racking his brain furiously for an answer. However, his efforts proved fruitless, for a moment later, the disillusionment that Snape had kept over him as a protection from what would inevitably be caustic consequences, was lifted. He turned around in surprise, looking at Snape with slight consternation written over his features. The potions master's attention was not focused on him though. The dark, seemingly infinite, aloof eyes settled cleanly on Professor McGonagall, as though Snape had not thought about the action for a mere minute.

"Minerva," he said coolly. There wasn't the faintest hint of a waver in his voice.

"Severus," she said in a tone that matched his in evenness. However, Harry was able to detect the shock that momentarily passed over her features. She masked it as quickly as an eye's blink, though, and then rapidly seemed to switch her tactics.

"What exactly is your business here?" She asked him, her voice clipped. Instead of answering her immediately though, Snape's attention was otherwise engaged. He turned away from her, towards the growing rabble outcry rippling through the crowd that was, slowly but indefinitely, turning into a din. Harry watched as he measured his onlookers for a minute, without making a sound, and he could admittedly understand the potions master's hesitation: everyone who was creating the noise was either looking at Snape as though they were going to turn their wands on him at any moment, or murder him without any scruple.

"In a moment, Minerva," he told her in a soft tone, his eyes glittering. "I believe that there are others within this circle who seem to feel ah- a special need for my attention."

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_**Please review!**_


	4. Realms of Disgrace

_**A/N:**_** A special thank you to**_** jakefan**_** and **_**Daughter of the Moon**_** (who shall remain, from this moment, eternally silent, as I have deduced). I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. Please remember to review, and tell me your thoughts- I love hearing from anyone, and entreat you to please become as involved as you'd like to, with open arms!**

**Upon that note, let me just express how glad I am that Severus Snape still incites passion, and that he will forever be able to do so for us writers and readers! Writing about him on day 200 is just as enchanting as writing about him on day one. I shall play upon his dark arts for the rest of my life over.**

**A ripe tomato for everyone that reviews- though not the one referred to in this piece of course ;)**

**Cheers!**

**~ Please note that I will be traveling abroad for the next two and a half weeks. I hope to update as permitted, but as London may not allow me to write as often on this as I would like, I offer my sincerest apologies in advance!**

**{Disclaimer: the originals belong to JK Rowling}**

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**Chapter 4- **

_**Realms of Disgrace ~**_

Harry watched in riveting, dire fascination as the potions master stood quietly his eyes resting upon the crowd like unreadable stones. The look on his face was completely indecipherable, and Harry had no inkling or indication as to the tendency of his thoughts. He felt, rather than heard, Professor McGonagall suck in her breath, although he hadn't realized that he was holding his own air inside, until the potions master drawled, his voice low and silky,

"I was under the impression that the Dark Lord had today become part of another entity. Which one of you feels that happy need to retract this notion?" Harry let out his breath in a long whoosh. He looked around at the many eyes that were leveled upon the potions master, the hatred in the room lewd, precise, and palpable, pouring forth passionately from both groups of combatants. There was no question as to the intended design that they were issuing, and, like a rogue, ricocheting tomato, their mission would desecrate Snape in a degrading red splash of bright red. The thought caused him to involuntarily shiver. He wanted to shoot a warning to him on a whim, but this was, of course, completely out of the question, and some might feel, totally absurd (himself included).

Quite predictably, no one said anything in answer to him. Snape watched everyone narrowly for a moment, calculating each individual person in the hall. A few of the wands directed towards him lowered, but the majority of them remained raised, ready for Snape to provide them with inspiration.

One minute passed, and then two. Finally, both of the Carrows stepped forward. Snape raised a delicate eyebrow, but neither of the two stopped. Alecto Carrow continued striding boldly towards him, until he stood right in front of Snape. Her twin fell back slightly, watching Alecto warily. Without knowing why, Harry involuntarily plunged his hand down into his robe, his hand tightly grasping his wand with a moment's indecision. The palm of his left hand was growing sweaty, and he wiped it surreptitiously against the side of his wrinkled robe. Alecto made no move to withdraw her wand, much to his surprise, and merely measured up to the raised platform on which they stood, and looked Snape straight in the face.

There was a moment of a slow, inexplicable epiphany that filled him with dread, which revolved ambiguously in the air, before Harry could finally catch it. And then abruptly, he knew what was going to happen after it was too late. Alecto's eyes gleamed with a streak of profound mercilessness, and a watery smile spread her lips open, momentarily reminding him of Sirius in his dog form, begging for a snack from him. Then she bent over, and spat onto the hem of Snape's robes.

A flash of something crossed Snape's eyes, but before Harry knew what it was exactly it was it had vanished, leaving a cold, blank look in its place, that somehow frightened him more than the malice which might have inhabited him. The crowed was now completely quiet, although Harry could still hear the vivacious, spirited wands of Ms. Weasely and Bellatrix Lestrange somewhere far in the distance, which were competing to live up to the design that had been bestowed upon them, long ago, in Mr. Ollivander's wand shop. Not wanting to spend an extra minute thinking about the outcome, he turned his attention back towards the slowly unraveling event. The air had somehow taken on a frigid sheen of glossy ice, which threatened to crack the moment that a challenge was provided. Harry felt as though he were momentarily made of ice as well.

"I do believe that you are out of line, Alecto," Snape finally said, his tone as smooth as ice, like the frozen crowd, creeping into the cracks of the trance like waves of warm air. Alecto bared her teeth at him, a slow, riveting sort of pallid smile creeping through the folds of skin like putty, with broken teeth being revealed.

"Prove it," she told him. "Whose side are you on, really? You seem to be quite happy that the Dark Lord is vanquished."

"Now, whatever would give you that impression?" Snape asked him softly, his timing impeccable. There was a silence-

"Not many people know about this spell do they?" Alecto asked him, taking a step closer to him, until he was so close to him that his nose was nearly touching Snape's. "In fact . . . if I recollect myself correctly, only a few of the Dark Lord's chosen followers were privy to the incantation at a point in time. How many people could have cast the spell upon him, Severus?"

"There are only a small number of people that have access to the Dark Lord's spells which are of the unique nature congruent with his insignia, as you well know," Snape answered him smoothly. Alecto's eyes widened fractionally, and then she seemed to momentarily retreat, but regardless her eyes were laconic, and they fluidly latched back onto Snape's.

"You know precisely what I am talking about, Snape. Do not pretend as though you do not." The shadow of a smirk played faintly, anddangerously across Snape's lips, and Harry instantly saw red.

"And your point is, exactly? If my memory recalls correctly, Alecto, there was a small but privileged few whom the Dark Lord chose to reveal this spell to." Her dark eyes flashed angrily at him, and she flexed her hand infinitesimally at her side, ready for necessary action.

"Exactly what do you mean by that?" Harry looked around at the onlookers that had become amassed in the Great Hall. Every one of them was now silent, the eyes of the Death Eaters boring into the scene playing from uniform white masks, and the rest of the people watching them openly, their breaths stunted . He knew that every one of them was waiting to see which side Snape had really been on all of this time, at last. What the potions master said within the next few moments would undoubtedly serve as the judgment of his fate. Snape must have known it, as well, but with a soft stride he stepped around Alecto in a swish of impossible black velvet. He circled around him lightly, his gait as silky as that of a ghost.

"You were not privy to the Dark Lord's original discussion about the _Orbitus Stabilitus_ spell, Alecto, because only a chosen few of his followers were able to imbibe this knowledge." He paused, and there was anger palpable in Alecto's eyes now. However, he did not prevaricate. "Surely you have not forgotten what the Dark Lord's original words were, in regards to that event?" Alecto's eyelids fluttered, briefly, and his boring gaze meandered towards the side, testifying to the truth of what Snape said. The potions master seemed to have guessed the truth.

"Ahhh . . . I thought not. There was an interesting discourse at that frame in time, however, and I must admit that I am surprised you do not remember it." Snape slowly and calculatingly extended one of his arms, precisely fingering the wand that was now, irrevocably, pointing into Alecto's face. Harry saw the later plunge her hand into her robe pocket, but Snape merely paused, apparently enjoying, to a brief extent, the power that held her in her place. He then pointed his wand upward, however, and muttered a litany under his breath in some kind of a carrying, delicate cadence that sounded rather like Latin. He thought vaguely that the light semblance might have sounded rather pretty, if the situation were not at that moment contrasted by a dense juxtaposition.

Snape merely raised the wand to his temple, however, and withdrew a long, silvery string of, what Harry unmistakably knew by association with Snape himself, to be a memory. With the precise and delicate movement of fragile glass, he withdrew a vial from his pocket and magically enclosed the memory in it. He then handed the vial to Alecto, who stared at him for a moment in hesitation.

"Take it," Snape sneered, staring down into her eyes as though stirred by a sudden dudgeon that made him associate some kind of shame by speaking with her, something about her unfit for him- he looked faintly disgusted, and there was something in his look that Harry couldn't quite decipher. "Do not be afraid of it, Alecto. It is only a memory, I can assure you . . . " She snarled, and promptly grabbed the vial viciously, promptly putting it into her pocket. Harry attempted to discover the rationale behind this missive by staring into Snape's greasy face, but he could get nowhere. . . the other Carrow twin had silently approached, but when the potions master took a single step, he judiciously walked away, and retreated into the outskirts of the crowd again. After glaring at Snape for a fractional moment, Alecto followed her brother, but there were a few in the boring glances of death intentions that did not seem at all satisfied with this.

"What exactly do you propose then?" Harry realized that Lucius Malfoy, who was now standing at the fringes of the crowd, had asked the question. The potions master merely watched him, and remained completely silent in response to his query. "That those who followed the Dark Lord are to assume that your legitimacy is enough to compensate for a spell that none of us seem to understand? Even if the memory that you are suggesting is enough to relieve the Carrows of their distress," he sneered, shooting a scathing and condescending look their way, "what proof do we have that you did not cast _Orbitus Stabilitus _over the Dark Lord?"

Harry briefly considered the possibility that the memory Snape just extracted for the benefit of the Carrows was actually meant to confound them as a distraction, to temporarily remove the problem they'd created. Even if the memory refreshed their minds about who had originally been privy to the spell, it still would not have revealed who had intentionally cast over Lord Voldemort a design that was originally his own, and he was beginning to feel as though this would be an impossible feat to realize. Malfoy seemed to have reached the same conclusion as he had, for he showed signs of wanting to interrogate Snape, but the potions master seemed to be deigning for the opposite; he appeared to be unwilling to answer any more questions. His face turned suddenly sour.

Then he took everyone by surprise. He stalked around Harry with a competent swish that seemed to be done by design, and, without another word retreated, ignoring the protests of his rivals, into the door to the left of the platform. Harry wondered fleetingly whether he was going to visit the dungeons . . .

Before much time had passed, the participants of the battle began making their way in a completely haphazard fashion towards the doors. Harry noticed, however, that many of them were merely stumbling around dazedly, as though unwilling, for some reason, or unable to believe that a reprieve of this particular calibre had come. He watched as a few of the Death Eaters struggled to take off their masks, and some merely left them hanging upon their faces, not understanding what the repercussions of this battle meant. There was no doubt, though, that it was blatantly unclear to everyone who had won. Everyone had an altogether confounded look, as though they were not a part of the reality that had swarmed over them and fell like a thick blanket, unable to be turned, unable to be picked up and examined adequately. Madame Pomfrey, and a few witches that had been designated for what seemed to Harry an unlikely task, judging by the wild and untimely look that two of them had, which demonstrated their need for reprieve, as they looked most unwilling- were attending to a few of the seriously wounded.

Harry walked about in an untrammeled manner, wondering, musing, and doing everything he could to decide how he could be of assistance, but he was lost. As he looked about, he could not help but to feel that he had uniquely crafted a monster. He felt as though there was a dense blockage in his brain that he was struggling to move- and he was sorely afflicted, by the inexplicable contrast that now pulled him towards every person that was begging for his help. Regardless, he could do nothing for them. He turned away, an ugly, coarse flame billowing throughout him, until he was caught by the shoulder, and he accidentally stumbled. The hand that had landed on his shoulder clenched it slightly, and he was able to refrain from falling. To his immense shock, he looked up into the bleeding, dirt-encrusted, but somehow lovely and serene visage of Luna Lovegood. Harry opened his mouth, but then felt it closing.

"Harry. Is there anything wrong?" Harry just stared at her, the cries of the fallen battlers in Voldemort's scene rushing up around him. To his left, a decade's worth of mass destruction flanked his body, in the semblance of five older wizards struggling to help one of their wounded friends. He just stared at Luna.

"That's not what I mean," she said. She shook her head at him faintly, and the fragile movement made Harry a bit more attentive to her. He raised an eyebrow. Luna's protuberant, glass-like eyes were gracing about the room in a misty, serene likeness, which seemed oddly unsuitable, and did not take into account the current degradation. He could not find a way to respond, and he wasn't sure that he even knew what she was referring to. She turned, and smiled at him slowly. They locked eyes with each other, though to him it was quite by accident.

"There is nothing that you could have done, you know. Headmaster Snape knew as well as you did that there was no way to predict the result with precision. He must have been contemplating that particular piece of dark magic for longer than any of us could have fathomed." Harry blinked at her, trying to dissolve what she said.

"You called him 'Headmaster.'" For that minute, this was all that came into his head. She smiled again. Then she shrugged at him, nonchalantly.

"Well, that's his title, isn't it?" She looked back at the scene playing out in front of them, and for a poignant moment, the vague façade in her eyes vanished, and she must have seen the carnage. "I suppose that he probably deserves what merit that title probably gives him, after all that he has struggled for and won, particularly considering the consequences." She sounded more matter of fact than she had ever sounded. Harry struggled to find a response. "I wouldn't have attempted to give him the proper respect that was due him either, until today. However, despite that, I have to say that I always suspected there was more to what the headmaster allowed any of us to see." Harry knew what she meant, and, in some strange way, found that his opinions really weren't juxtaposed to what she thought about Snape, even before his revelation. He wasn't sure what created the feelings which stirred him, but the most enigmatic person who he had ever met, had been the potions master at Hogwarts . . . though, that was a strange notion to strike him now.

"I believe that he may be feeling a little, well, lonely now, don't you suppose?" Harry focused upon her again, and his eyelids flickered as though she were a shadow. She blinked at him as though she had not caught the irony in his look.

"You think that Snape needs my company?" he almost barked at her, not quite able to absorb the complete gist of what she had said, or its alleged implications . . . why would she possibly think that Snape would want to see him? Harry shook his head roughly.

"Hey, you haven't seen Ron or Hermione anywhere, have you?" He asked, switching gears, though he almost dreaded hearing her answer, and was a bit sorry that he had outwardly voiced his concerns. Luna's gaze immediately grew serious, and Harry took a step back from her, involuntarily. His eyes were pleading. But she placed a hand upon his arm.

"I think they are both still alive, Harry, but I don't think that everyone in your circle of friends survived. Not that I presume to know everyone who composes that," she added, on second thought. She bit her lip, then. "But there were a few Ravenclaws . . . " Her voice trailed away, and she glanced down at her dirt and blood splattered knees for a quiet moment.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, wishing now that he were somewhere else, anywhere else, than standing here next to her, the reminder of what Luna, and so many other people had lost. He no longer felt as though he symbolized the disintegration of Voldemort's cause, but perhaps more. As he glanced around, it seemed to him that every strand of fraying life, pieces of the past, old teachers, strings of people that he had once known, and wonderful highlights of when he had first arrived here as a student, were starting to decay. No matter whether they were wrong or correct, both sides had been unwittingly vanquished, without a plan, and, no matter where you turned, there was only one emblem to discover- he looked down at his own shoes. He swallowed.

"I need to go," he told her, stepping away from the miserable scene in front of him. Luna nodded, her penetrating eyes showing understanding. Harry almost couldn't bear to see the gentleness her eyes held. He felt dirty, and somehow tainted, and, without another word, he found himself walking swiftly away from her. Ignoring the piteous battle cries that were beleaguering him from all sides, he swiveled away from them in a sharp triangle, not wanting to any more discern the moans and painful supplication . . .

As Harry walked he was not heedful of where he was going him, before he realized that his feet seemed to be automatically steering him towards the dungeons. He did not pause to think, however, and continued towards the potions office that Snape had occupied last year. He wondered why it did not even occur to him that there was probably a reason for the fact that Snape did not seem to be inclined towards Dumbledore's old office at the moment. Without understanding the thought in its complexity, it had struck him, that the ultimatum Snape could meet was abhorrent to him- and the thought of his innocence itself was not what drew him now. There was something else, something that he had never given a chance to nourish festering that he had never examined . . . something which required this last chance in order to correct.

As expected, Snape was where he had spent the vast amount of his time at Hogwarts, sitting behind his desk as though he had never left. So many feelings erupted in side Harry as he watched him, but when Snape looked up, he gave him a consuming, fiery scowl. Harry blinked, and slowly walked forward, trying to ignore the loathing that Snape was pinning him down with.

"Sir," he started, hesitantly, making what he hoped was an obvious effort to be respectful, "I'm sorry about, well, everything." He looked down at his hands, as though they had been graced by an unusually unique design. "I know that you did not intend this outcome," he admitted, his voice scratchy, and a bit hoarse. He suddenly felt as though all he wanted to do was sleep. His body felt overwrought and fatigued.

"What is it that you need, Potter?" Snape asked him, staring at him laconically. Harry noticed that he was fingering his wand in his left hand. However, he made no effort to use it. Unable to exert the necessary effort involved in standing, he ignored Snape's predicted resentment, and sat down in the chair across from his desk. He placed his hands down on his knees, struggling to hold his head up erectly.

"I don't know," he said, in perhaps the most honest statement that he had ever emitted to the potions master. There was a silence that fell between them, and Harry found himself surprised by the fact that Snape made no further attempt to address him. He chanced a glance up at him. He could not deny that there were heavy bags under the potions master's eyes, and that his skin was lending a papery, sickly white look to his overall person, one that did not quite suit the virility that he'd recently exhibited.

"I- I hope that you don't take this the wrong way," he began, hesitantly, knowing that this would not bode well with Snape. "But I think that you could really use some sleep. I mean, I know there's going to be a trial and everything . . . " Snape's eyes snapped back onto his, and he looked penetratingly into his face, but, the look he gave him was unfathomable.

"I do not need you to explain the intricacies of the Wizengamot to me, Potter," he sneered, flexing his hands, although, Harry noticed that he seemed to do so unconsciously.

"It should be pretty easy to prove your innocence," he told Snape earnestly, "you could just give them your memories. I'm sure that would be enough to persuade those that are on both sides . . . " But Snape did not answer him. Instead, he leaned back into his chair slightly, his eyes narrowed.

"What exactly are you doing here, Potter?" he asked him sharply, but Harry could actually detect a faint, but genuine curiosity in the question. He shrugged at him, not really himself knowing the answer. He could not deny the fact, even to himself, that he actually preferred being in the dungeons with Snape than out in the midst of the last, fraying events of the battle. Molly Weasely and Bellatrix Lestrange lingered for a moment before his eyes, but he quickly pushed down the image.

"I dunno," he told him honestly. "I feel a bit . . . unhinged, for some reason." Not willing to tell Snape the whole truth, he merely smiled wanly, but the facial muscles that he used seemed to protest against his efforts. He reached a hand up to wipe away the dirt from his sweaty brow, feeling the room suddenly start to grow hotter. When he pulled it away, however, he noticed something stick and wet upon it, and realized that it was blood. Snape's eyes narrowed even further, but he merely raised a negligent eyebrow in response to the action. Harry felt himself tipping sideways, and the floor began swallowing him up as though he was on the underside of a swing. It came rushing towards him, and he felt a momentary surge of panic. However, before he felt the smooth wood upon his hands, two black-encased arms fell around him, and, gripping him tightly, pulled him somewhere into the darkness . . .

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_**A/N:**_** Please review! You are appreciated most fervently =)**


	5. Insipid Gloomy Conjecture

_**AN:**_

**A special thank goes out to _Accalia Silvermoon_, _krikanalo_, and _hazeldragon_ for their beautiful reviews. **

**Ah . . . alas! I can do nothing about my own strict discipline methods, which you will no doubt use to teach me obedience at the long delay of this post. However, like a child with a lip jutting from her sad face, I can merely write on my behalf, to plead my case, that I've been traveling in England. I know, right? What kind of excuse is that? But walking over the Strand every day to classes surely has some small amount of refinement, that must regale you even from this distance. Ah, well. I sincerely hope that I am correct, and that you will not be too harsh with me. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and, as always, feel free to PM with questions. And please feel free to check out my other stories if you are wandering in the bland environment of boredom.**

**Cheers!**

_**SM ~**_

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**Chapter 5 -**

_**Insipid Gloomy Conjecture ~**_

It was half past twelve, and Harry could scarcely look at the clock for fear that it was not accurate in its depiction of the present context. The world that he woke up to was so inherently confusing that he was only looking at the clock as his source of solace, and rational descriptions- it would seem as though any other glance brought on a conundrum of thoughts. He looked to the right however, chancing a glance away from the rational portrayal, and saw yet another bout of haphazard confusion. Everything was turned upside down, and was not making any sense. If his eyes did not deceive him, none other but the Potions Master was standing over his body, glaring down in his absolute, vastly Snape fashion, almost as though he had brewed an abundance of the wrong poison by mistake. He opened his mouth to speak, but to his abhorrence nothing came out of his mouth. A mere gurgling noise surfaced, one that he could not seem to choke back down, as though he were a frog who had ate the wrong sort of bad cricket. He looked down, ashamed.

"Mr. Potter." As Snape spoke his name, Harry realized that he was feeling an intense pain shooting up through his system, and, as he came to awareness, could only wonder that he had not felt the sensation before this exact moment. It was a shooting flare that mimicked the beam of a fire that laced throughout his body in a terrible black demonic heat that swept through a forest, and he felt it so keenly that he wanted to cry out. He bit his tongue, however, and attempted to keep himself from making his mouth bleed with his harsh, cruel efforts.

"Mr. Potter! You will look up at me this instant," Snape snarled, and painfully, Harry forced himself to look up, but by the time that he met Snape's gaze, the malicious fire seemed to have simmered down a bit. That's when he realized that he was actually holding a potion in the grip of his hand, a crystallized black substance that was sparkling and somehow deceiving, and he was unable to reconcile himself with the vivacious potion- something in it seemed to be living. Somehow, in a way that Harry did not entirely comprehend, there was dark manipulation behind this vehicle, and, such a point was in fact proven when he downed it a minute later, unable to out-maneuver his fight with the urge. He found himself to be quite desperate for any relief from the pain coursing through him. However, as soon as the potion began to glide down his throat, the thick substance congealing in any form, manner, way that it deemed possible to curse him, he was swallowing it down inevitably, and, of course, he nearly thought that he might vomit- the glass held such an impossibly cruel concoction, that he would no doubt have regurgitated, had Snape not been giving him a hawk-like glare. He was sickened. He felt his fingers slacken at the moment that Snape removed the glass from his hand.

"Very good, Potter," the potions master said softly. Harry gulped down the last of the sickening bout of liquid that he had been forced to take, and at that moment placed his head down into the folds of his arms, for he felt of a sudden as though he were about to be placed somehow into a worse predicament. He listened as above him Snape tutted.

"Ahhhh . . . Mr. Potter. Is there some indication, from the manner of your behavior, that you are inclined to rebel against a potion that is in fact meant to heal this indisposition?" He swallowed.

"Indis- indisposition, sir?" He almost dreaded to hear the answer. There was a glint in those black eyes revolving above him that he didn't like. Snape's face, however, was completely inscrutable.

"Yes, Potter," he said, the tone of his words quite odd, his lank hair falling around him to grace the sides of his face in the most curious, and undefined manner. There appeared to be an odd juxtaposition to Snape's character that Harry really could not quite decipher. When he looked at him though, he saw seriousness in his gaze that caused an unlikely amount of fear to course through him, and he was actually astonished by the fact that Snape was not its primary cause. Although he struggled to sit up, and looked the Potions Master in the face carefully, there was no doubt in his mind that his ailment had actually stemmed from the scope of their surroundings, rather than from any discontent which Snape could have provided. As he watched him scrupulously for a moment, he realized that the odd character that was in Snape's present air was not of the discernment that he might have liked, and that, in fact, Snape was actually showing some- concern? The idea terrified him more than anything could have, and, as he looked around their present environment, he realized that they were actually in Snape's office, not having moved from his passage into it earlier.

"Sit up, Potter, if in fact you are able." His lips curved into a slight sneer, but it did not take away from the notion that he was in Snape's office at this time of night, or that something was terribly wrong about this portrayal. He was inundated by a million questions at once, and immediately wanted to throw them all into Snape's face without scruple, to be answered at this minute. However, he really didn't think it would be an excellent idea to place himself at the height of Snape's scorn and wrath, especially considering the fact that he didn't know how long he had been in this office under his hospitality. Internally he shuddered at hidden connotations floating around. He did, however, attempt to sit up by forcefully propping himself onto his elbows, and managed to push himself into an unceremonious position in the final minute. Snape sneered again, even though Harry noticed that the corners of his lips turned down faintly, as though he were battling against some other sort of strange emotion.

"Oh the happy thought, for it seems that Harry Potter has finally learned how to sit up on his own. For a moment I thought that my services would be required yet again for immediate acts assistance. Is there anything else that you require of me, or am I quite free to regain other acts of importance, more significant than you, Potter?" Harry could only stare at him, not able to think of a word that he could say that would be in his favor. He had no idea what the implications were of this circumstance, but did notice that, to his great relief, his pain had finally diminished at the absorption of the potion Snape had given him. He could only ogle the back of Snape's black robe, as he swept back towards his desk and seated himself once more in his usual position.

As he watched him, his vocal abilities finally started to return to him, and, he nearly gave an abrupt start, when he realized that his throat was becoming soothed by an imaginary finger that seemed to have slipped its way into his throat. When he grabbed it and began coughing roughly, though, Snape did not do anything except sit in his typical repose and do nothing save glance negligently in his direction. A moment later, he realized that this must have been one of the effects of the potion, and that there was nothing that was of an unsavory nature, because he now was able to speak once again. He proved this, in a mere second, when he questioned,

"Sir, exactly- how long was this- that is, how long I been here?" He sounded extremely raspy, and he was rapidly growing embarrassed.

"Four hours," Snape replied, without giving so much as a minute glance in his direction, still staring stanchly down at his desk where a variety of documents had gravely amassed. Harry wondered vaguely if he had planned to grade papers, and the papers began to look terribly ominous. That would seem very unlikely, though. He racked his brain with quick velocity. He had been here four hours. Okay. Apparently that would be an illogical amount of time in comparison to his original intent. _Yes, but you have been ill,_ argued his own voice. Yes, indeed, but, how in fact had he become so terribly indisposed over the course of only merely four hours. The next question then, was,

"But why exactly have I been here for four hours, sir? What happened? I mean- I was in here a few- I think that I was- I'd only come in here so that I could stay with- " Finally, as though it cost him an immense amount of effort that he did not feel inclined to use, Snape looked up from his thin, steeped white fingers. He stared directly into Harry's eyes, and shot him the most frigid glance, bearing an odd glint, and stated,

"You have been here for four hours, Potter, because you were cursed with a spell that was intended to kill you, and we had not planned on this occurrence. Obviously time becomes extended with the apparent misuse of its original intent," he finished on a sneer, but for some reason, Harry was under the impression that beneath the façade that he was bearing as the ruse of every particle of his former self, Snape was actually extremely unnerved. He felt himself grow as cold as an icicle that had broken away from a tree branch at winter's deathlike arrival at the great castle.

"I- I was poisoned?" he repeated, his voice no more than a whisper, as he felt all of the blood drain away from his face. "But- " he struggled to form his coherent words, "what would make anyone poison me in this room? How is it possible that I was poisoned here, I mean, in the dungeons? No one even saw me go in-" he paused, and wracked his brain for several moments, and his brow automatically furrowed in consternation. He could not deny the fact that he had not seen glimpsed anyone watching him, but then, he had not really been paying meticulous attention to those around him when he had left. Perhaps it was possible that in fact someone had seen him go down to the dungeons, and he had been unaware of it. He was struck by a sudden mortification. He looked up at Snape, and could not halt the slight amount of shame that crept over his features.

"No one saw me go come down here, did they?" he questioned, on a slight cringe that he could not help. Snape stared at him, and his features were completely implacable. He was silent for several long moments, and Harry now had no inkling as to the nature of his thoughts.

"It is possible," he said finally, "that someone saw you come down to the dungeons, but it is not probable that anyone in our immediate circumstances would have been able to execute . . . this." His eyes raked over Harry in a deadened way, as though every particle of Harry's being had melted into the wall behind them and become one with the stone enclosure circling them. He swallowed roughly, with a nervous anxiety that was trickling through his body, manifesting in small droplets that were beginning to prickle, making him rub his neck.

"Who _exactly_ do you think is responsible, then?" he asked him. There was a beat of silence. Snape did not have anything to say, it seemed, and this created a pang that was nearly immeasurable, because suddenly, Harry was struck with the most ominous feeling of foresight. He had not realized that that Potions Master's body had turned, but when he swept back around, it was apparent that there was something- a line that had creased between his eyebrows- that he had before seen, had taken hold of his inner self, while he swept in a fashion that was atypical, displaying feelings that Harry had never witnessed. Although the change was subtle, when he faced him once again, he could see something that in Snape he had never before been able to observe- the feeling of fear.

"I think it is possible that the Dark Lord himself is in possession of his former abilities." Harry felt as though he were being choked, and as he looked into the black eyes of onyx, he was unable to speak, and his words caught as if irrevocably spelled. The shallow capacities of Snape's dark, oblique air, were somehow trembling with the efforts to maintain the blank structures of his fort.

"You think that the spell allowed him to inhabit this Earth, rather than another atmosphere? How is that possible?" he asked him vaguely, now unable to comprehend anything in his environs that were taking place without the most extreme efforts. Snape placed a finger to his lips and lightly began to run the thin, spindly ghost across them, mesmerizing Harry for a moment, as he watched the shadow glide through the soft air.

"I am under the impression that the Dark Lord has only been partially removed from his environs. His spirit is still tied within the margins of it however, Potter, in spite of the fact that his physical body lives another existence in place and time." Harry merely ogled him for a moment at that, with no idea whatsoever of how to counter this. As far as he was concerned, Snape had practically dovetailed the conversation with this statement himself, and there was absolutely no point in further elaboration on the topic. He slowly made a visibly affected struggle to sit up a bit higher, and did not say anything for a full minute about any of it, staring, his mouth slightly ajar- but, this was a deliberate action. Snape turned away, ignoring him with calculated precision.

"Oh, so you're basically saying that Lord Voldemort's not really among us, but that his dead body is floating around on another planet while his spirit lives on. I somehow thought," Harry said, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm, unable to chisel away any irony that comprised his tone, "that he would have decided on a single place to inhabit. I mean, after all, he doesn't want to float around in two places after he has allegedly died. How terribly inconvenient that would be, I imagine." Snape finally turned back around to face him. His eyebrows slashed together as he sneered nastily,

"You do not seem to have the happy ability that some possess, Potter, of being able to dilute all of the items in your mind that stick there, settling themselves comfortably, in all the incorrect locations." He swept right up to Harry then, through the gloom, and grasped his shoulders in a pincer-like vice, but, at the exact moment the latter retreated, he seemed to slowly regain control of his senses. He relinquished his strong hold, and allowed his bony hands to fall backward. Harry swallowed.

"How does the fact that the Dark Lord returned, with fairly partial capabilities in his usual composure, exact this idiocy from out of your head, Potter?" he hissed, gradually retreating back into his former place at his desk, which was now bathed in a mass of shadows, gently caressing the brown furniture with slipping fingers. Harry could not repress a shudder. "Are you completely obtuse to the origins of the idea which highlights the Dark Lord's abilities, even his preferences, to form ties with this Earth? Think, Potter! Even you, with your undoubtedly abominable memory and small, pitiful mind, could not be that impenetrable." He curtailed his voice, and the sharp cynical quality became one with the dark waters of the soft bleak air which surrounded them. The sentence was a smooth wave, a crescendo of silky entreaty. Harry looked back up into Snape's cool face and collected, inscrutable manner, and he somehow felt a surge of guilt.

"I am sorry about the fact that you were forced to keep me in this office with you, sir," Harry said in a low tone, averting his gaze towards the floor, for some reason unable to look him in the face. There was a semblance of something that he could not comprehend, which had taken a hold of the Potions Master and crept into his blank expression, that he thought was strangely out of character. It manifested in the form of a non sequitur which simultaneously made both of them highly uncomfortable, all of a sudden, and him unable to look Snape in the face. He swallowed over something in his throat that was invisible. After a moment, however, the feeling vanished in a slow, languorous fashion, and no amount effort he took would return it. Snape gave him a curt nod, looking down into his intertwined fingers.

"While I do not condone keeping you in my office, Potter, more often than would be absolutely necessary, I cannot deny my obligations of keeping you, at the least, alive." Harry glanced up, blinking a couple of times.

"It would be extremely obtuse of me to endeavor for your death, after the entire wizarding world has sought for your ability to live. Indeed, everyone seems to be under an impression of your heroic capacities and your _vast potential, _in the overall success of this war, Potter. It is not in my privilege to deprive them of it, much as I might like to._" _While this was invariably true, and Harry knew that on this count Snape was speaking to his authentic intent and his mindset, it was also true that Snape had kept him in his own office for the last few hours, nursing him back to health. This was the primary reason for his surmounting confusion, and he did not know how to phrase the question that was stirring plaguing his tired brain.

He could hear the scratching of a quill in through the expanse between them, and he felt oddly disoriented. He wondered if perhaps his system was so overrun, and he was so wondrously fatigued, that a strange, bizarre process had taken hold over his body. Perhaps his system was actually so overrun, and had been spurred to an explosion, and he had burnt through his fuse of rationality. None of this was making any sense. He didn't know whether to leave the room, or whether to should merely stay on the floor listening to Snape do his homework, and wait for instructions. Hold on . . . he knew that it was not rational to believe that the potions master was grading assignments. Yes, now he knew that there was something genuinely wrong with him.

"Sir . . . " Snape looked up, his eyebrow slightly raised. He attempted to move himself over towards a better vantage point, as his vision did seem to be a bit obscured, and, for an instant, raised his entire body onto his elbows. From that position, he moved into an unbent, manipulative pretzel, and creatively worked his way into the middle, and then out to the ridges of it. He allowed his arms and legs extend finally, and then thwarted the pretzel bearings. He stumbled, trying valiantly to get to his feet, but it was proving to be incomprehensibly difficult, and he painfully fell back onto his arse after but a minute.

"What do you possible wish to accomplish through these senseless movements? Have you not been listening to the majority of our discussion, or did you merely miss the essential facts of it Potter?" Snape asked him, sounding abrupt. Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, feeling rather idiotic in that minute, and, not to mention, in an uncomfortable degree of pain.

"I- er . . . no, that is- " He winced, and folded himself back into his more comfortable position, bent unceremoniously on the cold floor. He was gasping and attempting to regain his proper bearings, but unable to regulate his system and regain any sense of normalcy, somehow. "It's just- I don't understand- what type of curse would cause this inability to function at my usual level?" He looked back up at Snape, and internally cringed. Not only had he probably just brought up the fact that he was not privileged to his normal physical comforts, but also the fact that being unable to in Snape's quarters must be terribly inconvenient. He didn't know what he could possibly do to salvage the whole situation, and he was beginning to feel excessively embarrassed about it.

"I am sorry that I am unable to do what I normally am- I mean- " and here he gestured down at himself, and attempted to ignore the flush of embarrassment that crept over him. Suddenly, he just wanted to duck his head, and never return to any type of interaction among living society. "I'm sorry sir, but I don't exactly know what to make of this. I didn't mean to force you to . . . I will leave your room as soon as I can . . . " he rambled almost incoherently, his head still bowed. In spite of the constant flow of inept ability of speech, Snape continued to steadfastly ignore him, apparently not of the mind to fuel Harry to further humiliation at the moment in this way. He wanted to die.

"What exactly is wrong with me? What did that spell do? I really can't stay here any longer. The battle is- "

"None of your concern at this particular moment," Snape answered him in a clipped, tone, observing his laced fingers in a carefully smooth manner. "Due to the fact that there is no way in which you can be of assistance at this time, there is no reason for you to attempt reinstituting your inept body into the realm of the fighting," he continued in a nonchalant tone of dismissal, still giving the appearance of not actually listening to him.

"But, that's ridiculous- " he spluttered, attempting to curb the anger beginning to course through him at this, "of course I have to go back!" Snape glanced up at him, his eyebrows carefully raised. "I have to see what's going on!" he cried. "My friends- the Order are out there, fighting for my own purpose- no offense, sir, but you were the one who said that Lord Voldemort had returned!" Harry told him forcefully, his eyes flashing into Snape's impenetrable black pools of oblique uncertainty, which would have unnerved him in their racing, indecipherable enigma, if it wasn't for his current predicament, "and if you think that, after being personally poisoned through one of his own nefarious concoctions, then I don't know what you're on about, but it's not coherent," he spat, not really caring about the fact that he really wasn't making much sense.

In his usual propensity of course, Snape swooped down upon him the moment that he finished, and Harry had a moment of epiphany and realization. But, he really didn't care that Snape was angry. He didn't care about the fact that the black shadows under Snape's eyes displayed an obvious indisposition that his own had probably caused, or the fact that he had been here much longer than was usually permitted. He was being fatigue, pain, or the full control of his senses. All that he wanted at this minute was to demonstrate his actual cause, which was to finish terminating the finished end of this long, terrible battle, which, for many long, grueling, and incomprehensible months, he had been forced to endure. If he had anything to say about it, his efforts were not going to be for naught.

"Potter," Snape snarled, pulling his shirt towards him into the significant, eerie gloom, gripping it like a strand into the distance, as though it were putty. An ill feeling suddenly overwhelmed him though, and, without warning, that feeling seeped into his very bones, and, unable to stop himself, he collapsed back onto the floor, lifeless.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with me," he mumbled, aghast at his own relapse, through not posing a question in particular, rather than merely voicing his thoughts to the air. He was vaguely aware of the fact that a wand was being waved over him, and did not even start at the fact that a firm, yet unfamiliar prodding against his back had just made its appearance.

"For perhaps the first time in your life, Potter, you made a decision that was not quite as abominable as the rest of those that you've rashly and obtusely made. It was prudent to come here tonight, against all both of our wishes," he said, his tone a low murmur. "Although I am indescribably repulsed, by the fact that you are within my presence, no doubt," he said, in low cynical lewd intonations, "we have together become prime aspects for the unleashed, cold and malicious feelings of both sides to find a target within, and it is likely that we will need to bide our time in a lesser seen area of the war scene, for a time." Harry looked up in shock, attempting to hold back a fit of coughing.

"What do you mean by that?" he spluttered, weakly. There was a lowered appearance to the sharp curve of Snape's bony shoulders that he didn't particularly like. He swept back around and faced Harry squarely, and he could see every sharp, pointed, and etched out feature in the Potions Master's face, as though it were stone.

"If you have a wish to survive," he hissed at him, cold eyes boring into him, "then it is likely that we will need to go into hiding." Harry's heart plummeted, as though it had suddenly turned into an anvil, and his body a ship that was sinking.


	6. To Own Up to Courage

**A big thank you to _kirkanalo_ and _Accalia Silvermoon_ for their reviews- note that I appreciate anyone's, and everyones! (hint, hint)**

_**A/N: **_

_**The difference is that Harry would not run away from the difficulty, even when the turret was the one which he most did not want to face.**_

**{Disclaimer: The original belongs to JK Rowling}**

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**Chapter 6-**

**_Owning Up To Courage ~_**

Harry's throat felt as though it had become a mountain of dust, which had somehow been layered lightly in slabs, had closed over his tongue and mouth, congealing in a way that stunted the silky flow of his words. He felt similar to a piece of honeysuckle that had been cut, or a syrupy sap that no longer gave life to the fluttering bee with its fresh juice. How was it possible for him to be here in the same room with Snape, and for the Potions Master to have stated what he had stated to him, only moments before?

There was something about the situation that seemed vaguely ethereal, giving Harry the distinct impression that there were faint, ghostly figures, reflecting their souls, but that they themselves were no longer present. Perhaps the headmaster and himself had somehow been turned into Hogwarts ghosts over night? Could they have become friends of Sir Headless Nickolas during the last battle, blending into his yearly Death Day Parties as shadowed guests, as silent companions of those that flowed through these walls, unnoticed, but eternally with them? Harry wondered if he had somehow misunderstood what had actually happened. He shook his head, as though attempting to shred off a fly.

"Potter!" Snape's sharp voice cut into his attention, and Harry finally snapped back into whatever abilities of present understanding were now available. He did not comprehend much about the matter, however, so he decided to ask guilelessly,

"I'm sorry, but I was just wondering, sir, whether you and I had been turned into Hogwarts ghosts? Only I really didn't think that you would be willing to take me into hiding with you, so I wonder if, erm- well, if maybe- one of us is confused?" Snape's immediately bared his lips into a snarl.

"I am not sure, Potter, your current state of mind permits you to ask me any such a question, as you find yourself incapable of coherent speech." Harry's brain was a bit foggy, but he could not help but to open his mouth again to heatedly point out,

"I don't think that it's fair of you to attempt to censure me on the topic, Professor," he paused, and then he boldly rallied, "that's not entirely true I don't think, sir . . .I realize, of course that there have been an abundance of deaths lately, and perhaps because of that, the survivors will commemorate us in that way. I know that casting someone in the role of a martyr is not terribly uncommon, and- you know what?" He waited for Snape to speak, but when he continued merely to glare with a sneer pasted onto his thin face, Harry continued in the same brazen and oddly proud manner, "I was invited to a Death Day Party once. I- I mean really, if you are going to censure the topic, I think that Headless Nick would be quite offended . . . "

He quickly snapped his mouth shut, as though just realizing, for the first time since he began to speak out, what exactly he had been telling the Potions Master, his face flushing the most remarkable shade of a red poinsettia; he swallowed roughly. There was some type of cotton wad there. His eyes snapped directly onto Snape's boring gaze, feeling the cold drills travel straight past the folds of his outer face, and rush with slowly traveling shoots of chipped ice into his abdomen. "I-"

He didn't think that he had ever been more humiliated in his life, as the cool, sardonic gaze settled on him with a carefully calculated, measure of precision, and he was forced to look back down at his legs. He noticed that they were sprawled about him in a grotesque configuration, with one leg forming stick-point into the air, resembling a skinny tree branch that would not bend for him. When he looked up at Snape, he felt extremely small all of a sudden, and undeniably bewildered.

"I don't exactly know what just came over me just then, Professor . . . I- I'm sorry about all that," he said, his voice sounding lame. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth twitching in an obscured, peculiar sort of way, but, to Harry's relief and surprising well of gratification, he chose not to say anything. He finally looked away from Snape, the strength that coursed viciously through his veins, moments before, draining away from him, and forcing him to place his head down upon his elbows, languished. Whether the action was taken for measures of his physical control, or because of a slight pique he had about his state of mind, and the fact that he'd allowed it to spread before Snape, he couldn't be sure.

"Although you are no doubt troubled by the fact that we will be living in another state of unknown divisions, there is no need to concern yourself so, Potter," Snape said with a faint trace of trace of tarnish to his cool, clipped words, which were seemingly rusted by lack of cleaning and tinged with something of an unknown nature. Harry listened to him, carefully, attempting to make sense of the change that he detected in the usual carefully tailored, measured tone of the professor. He did not know whether there was a mere unhinged quality to it, shuttered just beneath the surface of that perpetually thin, pursed white mouth, or a severity that boded the same exact implication.

"What exactly has become of the battle?" He asked, his voice hoarse, still feeling ill, nauseous beginning to plague him as he attempted to control his racing thoughts, in all manner of merciless and cruel, nefarious black projections. Images of Hermione and Ron suddenly surfaced, their bodies sprawled carelessly upon the floor, while two masked Death Eaters stood over them, their wands drawn, pointed into the terrified faces of his best friends as they clung to each other, drawing their last breaths . . . he drew in a deep breath, as the image rapidly turned into Tonks, and Lupin, and then all the rest of the Order members, including the Weaselys, Ginny, and- he stopped there, and quickly drew in a deep, sharp breath, attempting to ignore his throbbing and his racing heart, valiant pushing all of them away . . . Snape cast him a quick, shrewd look.

"I have no idea," he told him, after a moment, sounding smooth, "I have not been out of these confines for the last several hours, Potter, in the same manner as you, for reasons that I would have thought obvious." Harry looked up at him then shamefaced, but somehow angry, and of the opinion that he should be able to attain knowledge of the battle's outcome no matter what happened to them. He knew that he had been drugged, and willed the effects of it away, as thoughts of his realistic happenings continued to surge forth.

"If you think that I'm going to sit here, sir, while the rest of the battle is tapering through its last moments, then I am afraid that you are sadly mistaken," he said, his words slow and deliberate, making sure he watched Snape's face carefully, not attempting to stop himself from saying things that would no doubt cause him later regret. He simply found, however, that he did not care about the fact that he may be forced into spending copious amounts of time with Snape in the future, even if he was creating a highly volatile situation, testified by Snape's transforming features.

"I will not abandon my friends, or the Order," Harry continued on, very stoutly. "The very notion of running away now would be an abomination, sir, to not only Professor Dumbledore's memory, but to everyone who has ever fought to make this world free of Voldemort, and everything that he has done to maintain his forces through his followers, to keep himself stationed here in spite of everything we have done to resist him." He looked at Snape levelly, and felt no scruple in what he was going to say.

"And it would also be a dishonor to yourself. How could you possibly think of running away, after all you have worked to accomplish, throughout the entire time that you spent at Hogwarts? Throughout all of the time that you yourself have placed into maintaining the façade that you were forced to wear, against your will, in spite of the fact that everyone who knew you never even placed their full trust in you."

Snape's temple was working furiously, his face had turned a dark shade of puce, and his eyes flashed in the most dangerous manner, as he spun rapidly away from him. Harry knew immediately that he had gone too far. Snape made no other movements, however, save to sit across from his and stare at him in utter fury.

"You dare, Potter, you dare- " he hissed, with an innate fury that would have exceedingly frightened Harry, perhaps, had he not just battled with the darkest wizard of all time, and had he not just been through the end of Dumbledore's timed design that he had always been destined for. He knew that his words were harsh, and that in any other circumstance they probably would have been inappropriate- but, he knew that this was not any other circumstance, and that he was speaking out of necessity.

As much as he had previously despised the Potions Master underneath his general lessons, and despite his current confusion and uncertainty about his character, he could not but think that Snape was needed in this case. He refused to walk onto the battle scene once more without his presence. He allowed his eyes to meet his gaze once again suddenly realized, with an odd pang, how true were his words. He looked away from him, the anger leaving his body as suddenly as it had reared its head. His words started to pour.

"You are needed at the battle's edges, in order to rally those that have spent the majority of the last sixteen years affecting some type of battle strategy. Everyone who was a part of this movement, was forced to delve into their innermost circumstances, at times some which were- " Harry struggled to find the right words, "painfully personal," he said, at last, "and to give a huge part of themselves to the cause," he told Snape, an unexpected fire lighting his eyes once again, just then that made the emerald glint ferociously- for a minute he took on the impression of a snake that had reared its head toward Snape unexpectedly.

The indignation that he felt on behalf of all of the witches and wizards who had given their lives for the Cause, or suffered the loss of those that were closest to them, surprised even himself, but there was no question about its presence."If I were to face the circle of Dumbledore's closest embrace alone," he continued, "after the war has finally reached its finish point, then imagine the amount of enigma that you would be spreading over that group." Snape opened his mouth and then closed it, blinking very slowly. For a moment he seemed to be genuinely confused. Harry shook his head with back and forth, thinking hard for a minute. His brows were furrowed in concentration. Then he splayed his hands out to him, flatly.

"What I'm trying to tell you is, that there are about a thousand people out there that are looking to you for not only and explanation, but also for inspiration," he asserted, sounding earnest as he drove his communications abilities to a taxing degree. But he knew that he had to tell Snape what he needed to. If he didn't, well, he might never get another opportunity. "You were the head of the Order after Professor Dumbledore was kill-" and then he he reconsidered his choice of words quickly, and steered the conversation another way, "I mean," he amended, in a smaller tone, "you became the primary asset in everything that he had planned, in every possible way, and he executed every element of his plans around your abilities. It was his faith in you, Professor, which created the unprecedented resolution that everyone has been working towards all this time.

"I am not saying that I completely understand every small mechanism of his unlikely scheme, because I don't think that anyone could, but I do know that you were the one only one after his death who gave Hogwarts the little protection it had," he went silent for a moment, and when he looked up he found Snape staring at him with an odd, unfathomable expression. There was a glint of something there, a faint curiosity that he could barely detect, but it shimmered flittingly across the surface of his dark eyes. Harry took in a deep breath, feeling a passion surge up in his system that was really a little bit unlikely and improbable. His eyes were snapping with ferocity as his words licked the underside of the flaming emeralds, pushing them with a glinting force. For a moment, even Snape looked a little bit taken aback by this reaction.

"You know, nearly everything that Professor Dumbledore ever did was intertwined with the war in some way. The dictate that he gave to you was not an easy one, and, while I don't pretend to entirely understand all of his reasons- " he glanced down to examine his hands and turned them over, his tone turning into a mumble, "I can't help but to feel as though he honed each of us in the way that we were meant to be utilized, according to what we could individually offer to his great plan, through our own personal stores and assets, despite our, well, obvious setbacks, and probably for the best."

He sighed then, looking back up, the lines of his face almost showing defeat through a delicate deflation of every minute fold that displayed something about his thoughts. "I was never really disillusioned about what he had designed for my specific intent, and I think that perhaps, I always knew that I would need to fit a certain mold. Not because it was in any way a fault of the headmaster's but just because, I was always different, destined from the beginning. . . " he sighed again, and looked away, his voice trailing off into the distance. Snape remained silent. Harry roughly shook his head.

"You never deserved to be forced into his nefarious concoction though, at least, not in that way," he said then, his words dense with meaning, his eyes now regaining their former ferocity, and there could be no doubt of to what he was referring to. Snape was no longer maintaining eye contact with him, he noticed, but looking off vaguely into the distance. "I don't know what exactly caused him to feel that that type of use was fair," Harry said stoutly, "and, no matter what you've done in the past, you didn't deserve that." His breathing grew a bit labored and wisped through the air between them, through an awkward pause-

"Potter-" Snape began, his tone a vague warning, but it, as though there was no virility behind it, quickly fell short.

Harry, however, refused to refrain from stating his opinion on the matter, and did not want to hear Snape's excuses. "You were the primary leader of this war, and you deserve to claim the praise that every person who fought against Voldemort is willing to provide you. After hearing the truth, no one will want to miss the opportunity of recognizing your contributions, sir. After you explain your decision to kill the Albus Dumbledore, and give your reasons for doing the role of headmaster, you will become an inspiration, and can help to encourage those that are still working through the battle's aftermath," Harry said levelly, looking Snape in the eye without scruple now, but, the former was now looking in the opposite direction, tapping his fingers lightly upon his desk and determinedly feigning ignorance.

"It would be an incredibly cruel action to take against yourself, as well as the general population, if you did not at least give them a suitable explanation explanation. You at least owe them that," Harry stated in a decisive tone, and then pausing to let out a deep breath. He found himself feeling relieved at the mere fact that he had been able to say what he had meant to; in spite of the circumstances that surrounded the outer battle, the suppositions and the deathly forebodings eating away at his mind, he felt that he had to tell Snape how he felt, even though if he wasn't exactly sure of the exact reasons.

A long stretch of silence passed between them after he had finished. Harry noticed that Snape's breathing was a bit harsher than normal, the small gusts of his breath bursting through the space between them, with what seemed to be a chilly flow of malice. They meandered about the two of them, and Harry watched him without saying anything, forgetting his own personal needto breathe. Finally he turned back around to look him in the face, his lank hair falling in cuttingly over his face, which was as blank as an unreadable stone.

"Alright, Potter, I will go with you," he stated, and although voice was unfathomable, his eyes were calculating and lewd, giving Harry the appearance of contemplation of some nefarious task that didn't want naming just then.

"Right. Let's go then," Harry said rapidly, not giving the conversation the benefit of further thought. Now that he had gotten Snape to agree, he was enlivened by urgency. Thus, he immediately rose out from his seat, intending to lead the way back into the Great Hall. As soon as he stood up, however, he nearly fell over, his legs wobbling beneath him precariously. Swift as a panther, the Potions Master was upon him, managing to catch him a split second before he hit the cold stone beneath him. Moving him back to the desk so he could stand against it, Snape allowed the chair to topple over without scruple, snarling furiously,

"And why exactly do you think I told you 'to not attempt walking' Potter? Are you under the impression that this dictate was given for my mere amusement at pulling you to your feet, at every potential second in which you desire me to do so? Because I can assure you, that if that is what you thought, your attempts at fulfilling are sorely disappointed by your efforts. In addition," he added sardonically, "you can be utterly sure of the fact that I have absolutely no desire to observe you as a potions ingredient under my surveillance, much as you may wish to be one." Harry let go of his arm, falling back into Snape's desk to lean upon it, panting laboriously as he attempted to catch his breath.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" He growled, keeping his head obscured from Snape, in order to hide the inevitable blush that was starting to bloom there. He had no doubt about the faux de pas.

"Really?" Snape asked him, voice heavy with irony, raising his eyebrows just slightly enough for them to glance across his low hairline. "Is the only reason that I keep you then, in my quarters for several hours in order to nurse your wounds entirely a moot point? Considering that you had other purposes for my original intent the whole time, perhaps you would deign to enlighten me with your true plans are for my own work." Harry opened and closed his mouth, gaping at him stupidly.

"I- no, of course, that's not it! I just wanted to- that's completely ridiculous!" He spat, but winced as soon as a flaming pain swept up through the back of his legs.

"Is it?" Snape snapped at him, bearing down over him, his hooked nose nearly driving into his face. "Then I suggest that you _sit_ _back down _Potter, before I levitate you into the Great Hall, and deliver you to the mercies of anyone that might be privy to the Dark Lord's wish. Have you forgotten everything we discussed? Of do you merely wish to display your vulnerable state to anyone that could essentially be watching?" he finished on a cruel, cold glare, then swiftly turned on his heel, and walked angrily to the other side of the desk. Harry bit back his response, swallowing down his heated retort. He couldn't argue with the fact that Snape was actually right in this instance. In pain therefore, anger, and some amount of mortification, he slid down to the floor, shame-faced and disgusted.

The fact that he had been cursed had not escaped his attention, but he had been so anxious to know the outcome of the rest of the battle, and so desperate to tell Snape what he needed to, that the knowledge of his pain had escaped his notice momentarily. Now it was back however, and for some reason, seemed much worse than it had been before he had spoken out. He wondered if the curse was designed to punish him in some way, whenever he did something that it took action to rebel against. He sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead with a sweaty, faintly trembling palm. And, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, just as he thought the sound of Snape's tickling clock would drive him to the St. Mungo's section for brain damage, the Potions Master placed the work he had taken up, under the guise of Harry's encumbering predicament, back onto his desk. He tilted his chair back and surveyed him through narrowed orbs. Harry swallowed over a lump.

"Sir," he said, and, even though his voice had somehow grown hoarse over the last few minutes, he did not care. He was to the point of begging him now, "please . . . I need to go and witness the battle's outcome. I need to go and be in the way of my friends- the other Order members. This- " He waved his hands down at his legs pathetically, "there must be something that can be done about this." Snape stared at him, his face as cool as a stagnant river. He leaned back into the chair Harry had occupied moments before, which now loomed up over him like a church tall spiral, mocking his sad plight beneath it- Harry tried to cross his legs resolutely. Snape seemed to consider him for several minutes.

"If my calculations are correct, Potter, the worst of the spell's damage should wear itself out within the next two hours. At that point, you should be able to maneuver at your typical level of capacity. When this occurs, we will discuss the options available to us." He waited, but when Snape said nothing more, and merely wiped a hand over his sweaty brow- which he noticed was no longer bloodstained- Harry smiled wearily back at him. Even if Snape didn't think what he thought he meant, he would, at least, agree to face the battle's stragglers, and, hopefully, before they had to make any serious choices, he could at least see that everyone was alright- if they were alright- he shuddered involuntarily.

"For now, I would suggest that you go to sleep, Potter, unless you want to face the entire wizarding world in your current condition," he sneered, but Harry only smiled at him again. Then, before he knew it, fatigue struck him, and he found himself drifting softly away, but, before he could go too far into this unsuspected wave of pleasantness, he felt something cold being pressed against his mouth.

"Drink," he heard a voice order, one that, in some way, he knew would be the cause of some slimy dungeon punishment if he did not obey it. He opened his mouth and swallowed whatever it was, and, before the contents finally swooped into his stomach, and a black shadow slowly swept across his cloudy vision. For some reason that he couldn't fully understand, in his giddy state of mind, its presence was comforting to him, and he went to sleep with its imprint still casting itself effortlessly across his brain.

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**A/N:**** L****ove it? Hate it? Please let me know what your thoughts are. I noticed several new followers to this, and would be excited if you would take the swift moment to press that dear little 'review' button. They are always extremely encouraging to me! Thanks!**


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